


The Secrets That You Keep

by iamladyloki



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Neil Hargrove, Fix-It, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamladyloki/pseuds/iamladyloki
Summary: Steve thought that he was used to life-changing secrets by now. Most secrets were of the Earth-shattering, horrific variety. He’d fought a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan--and won. He’d gone against demodogs to protect his friends. He’d travelled deep into a secret Russian base to solve a mystery and potentially stop a political plot.The personal secrets were the ones he had to hide the most. Like how he felt about Billy Hargrove.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	The Secrets That You Keep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verfallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verfallen/gifts).



Steve thought that he was used to life-changing secrets by now. Most secrets were of the Earth-shattering, horrific variety. He’d fought a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan--and won. He’d gone against demodogs to protect his friends. He’d travelled deep into a secret Russian base to solve a mystery and potentially stop a political plot.

The personal secrets were the ones he had to hide the most. Like how he felt about Billy Hargrove.

It didn’t matter anymore. Everyone doubted that Billy would make it out of surgery alive. Steve stared empty-eyed at his blood-coated hands. He, Max, Eleven, and even Robin had pressed onto Billy’s wounds with everything they had while Nancy called for an ambulance. It had been a miracle that he made it to the hospital alive.

Steve closed his eyes and prayed with everything he had that Billy would make it out of this alive. He had to. Steve had to tell Billy how he felt.

* * *

**_Snow Ball, 1984:_ **

Billy Hargrove couldn’t believe the cheesiness of it all. The _Snow Ball_ ? Really? His own middle school dances weren’t _that_ lame. They were called shit like _Spring Fling_ and _Fall Ball._ Not that he really spent time at the dances. If he went, he usually slipped out around the back of the gymnasium and smoked.

He couldn’t really believe that Max wanted to go. Then again, she really seemed to like that Sinclair kid. He just hoped that Neil never found out, because if he found out that his so-called daughter was dating a black kid, he would have a conniption. Or worse. Billy was done trying to come between Max and Sinclair. Max had made her point with a bat full of nails.

It seemed pointless to go anywhere for two hours while Max danced her little heart out. Billy parked the Camaro in the joint middle and high school lot. He got out and leaned against the car hood. He needed a smoke.

So did Harrington, apparently. The guy was parked a few cars away, and was very clearly unhappy. Billy lit the top of his cigarette and the cherry flared to life when he inhaled. He glanced back at Harrington, whose face had visibly healed from his beating back in November. If Billy had money to bet, he’d have placed a wager that Harrington was upset over his ex and her new boyfriend. From what gossip he’d heard, Nancy hadn’t even broken up with Harrington before moving onto the creepy Byers dude.

Harrington got out of his BMW and slammed the door. He grumbled to himself and paced in front of the car, so distracted that he didn’t notice Billy.

“Hey,” Billy said. Before Harrington could register who was talking, Billy tossed the rest of the cigarette pack at him. Harrington fumbled but managed to catch it.

“Seems like you need those more than I do, Harrington.” Billy paused, considering. He gestured at his own face and said, “Sorry for…you know. Last month. It was a shitty thing to do. I didn’t mean to take it that far. I just thought…it looked shady, okay? It was late and night and you were lying about where Max was. And something happened right before…” he paused to sigh. “It’s not an excuse. Okay? I took it out on you because you were there, and I needed an out for my anger.”

They were both quiet for several moments. “Was that supposed to be an apology?” Steve asked. He squinted at Billy and tilted his head.

Billy just grunted and threw his cigarette stub on the asphalt, crushing it with his boot. He was about to get back in his car when Steve replied.

“Thanks for the cigarettes.”

Billy just glared at Steve and growled out, “Don’t fucking mention it, Harrington. Besides, there’s only two left.” He slammed the Camaro door shut.

* * *

**_Christmas, 1984:_ **

Steve had been pleasantly surprised when his parents informed him that they’d be spending Christmas with him. The past two years, they’d gone to Georgia to spend Christmas with his mom’s parents, and left him behind in Hawkins.

(The first year it had been his choice. He was behind in school and decided to use the break to catch up on projects and essays and other shit. His parents had agreed that was a smart decision. The second year they hadn’t bothered to ask. They just told him that if he needed them, he knew his grandparents’ phone number.)

A bell jingled when Steve opened the door to Melvald’s General Store. His mom had handed him his keys and a grocery list and sent him out to grab some last-minute Christmas dinner supplies.

Joyce waved at Steve from behind the register. “Hi, Mrs. Byers,” he said in reply.

“Anything I can help you with?” she asked.

“I’ve got it,” Steve said, waving her off. He didn’t want to make her leave her spot just for a few things. “If I can’t find something, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Joyce said, and smiled.

He’d managed to find four out of six items by the time he made it to the pharmacy aisle, where his mom had asked him to pick up a bottle of ibuprofen. He froze in his tracks when he spotted Hargrove. The guy had a split eyebrow and the beginnings of a black eye. The cut looked like it had been cleaned but was still bleeding sluggishly.

“Who landed that hit?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.

Billy looked up and gave Steve a withering look. He grabbed a box of bandages and a tube of antibiotic ointment and shoved past Steve, not even deigning to give a response.

Steve shrugged and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen.

* * *

**_New Year’s Eve, 1984:_ **

Steve could only shake his head when he spotted Hargrove stumbling on the side of the road, clearly drunk. He pulled up beside Billy and rolled down the window of his Beemer. 

“Get in the car, Hargrove,” Steve said. His breath clouded in front of him in the cold air. “It’s fucking freezing and you live on the opposite side of town.”

“You really think I’m going home right now?” Billy slurred. Yeah, he was wasted all right.

Steve sighed. “We don’t have to go to your house. Let’s go back to mine. There’s no one else home.”

Billy seemed to hesitate, but made no move to get in the car. After a few moments, it became clear that Billy wasn’t going to get in unassisted. Steve rolled his eyes, put the Beemer in park, and helped Billy get into the car. 

“What’s going on with you?” Steve asked. “Drunk already? By yourself?”

“Fuck off,” Billy drawled. Steve could smell the alcohol on his breath even from the driver’s seat.

Steve asked the question three more times. The third time, they were standing in his house, and Billy was poking around various cabinets.

“Where’s the good stuff?” Billy asked. “You’re family’s rich. I know your dad has the good stuff somewhere.”

All Steve seemed to do in the last half hour was sigh. He was _not_ about to let fucking Hargrove die from alcohol poisoning in his house.

“If you tell me where it is, I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Billy said.

Against his better judgement, Steve agreed. He poured Billy a shot of Woodford Reserve bourbon. Billy tipped back the shot and grinned wolfishly at Steve.

“My father is a fucking bastard,” Billy said. “Threatened to burn me with my cigarettes if I didn’t take more responsibility around the house. So I grabbed his six-pack of beer when he wasn’t looking and left,” he admitted.

Steve blinked, horrified. “Would he really do that? Burn you?”

The grin slipped off of Billy’s face, and he shrugged. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Jesus,” Steve said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” Billy said. His face grew serious. “I mean it. Don’t. Mention. It. To anyone. You got that, amigo? This is between me and my padre.”

“Got it,” Steve said. Then he furrowed his brow, recalling Billy the previous week. “Is that who gave you that nasty shiner on your face?”

“I’ll tell you if you give me another shot,” Billy said.

Steve rolled his eyes. That was a yes, then.

“Nope,” he said, locking his father’s alcohol cabinet and tucking the key in his pocket. Instead, he fixed them grilled cheeses and forced Billy to drink plenty of water. By the time the ball dropped in Times Square, Billy was sobering up. 

“Happy New Year, Hargrove,” Steve said.

Billy snorted. “Happy New Year, Stevie-Boy.”

He left shortly after that, sober enough to walk home.

* * *

**_Graduation, 1985:_ **

Graduation should have made Billy feel--relief. Joy. _Something_. But all he could think about was how the ground felt more unsteady than ever. He didn’t bother applying for college; he didn’t plan on going, at least not immediately after graduating high school. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed to leave bum-fuck Indiana as soon as possible.

But in order to do that, he needed money. Which meant a job, even if it was only a temporary one.

The new Starcourt Mall was opening at the start of summer, but Billy couldn’t stand the idea of being stuck inside, let alone working retail. 

The morning before he was set to get his high school diploma, he asked Neil to pass him the classifieds section of the Hawkins Post. Billy felt a small elation when he found the ad for a lifeguard position at Hawkins Community Pool. He tore out the ad, stuck it in his pocket, and got ready for graduation.

By the time everyone walked across the stage, accepted their diplomas, and made it into the parking lot, everyone seemed to be in high spirits. Conversations mostly involved relief at being out of hell school and excitement for college. Billy didn’t feel like joining in. Neither did Steve Harrington, apparently.

Harrington seemed to be going through the motions, but not actually enjoying himself. He stood off to the side in an over-the-top, expensive suit, kicking at the dirt with his nice shoes.

“Where are your folks, Harrington?” Billy called over to him.

Harrington rolled his eyes. Billy had a small satisfaction at the reaction. “I told them I’d meet them at home.”

“What, you and your folks aren’t celebrating?”

“Not anything to celebrate,” Harrington muttered. “I didn’t get into any universities. They’re just relieved that their stupid son graduated at all.”

Billy hesitated. This was one thing he didn’t want to needle. He heard it enough from his own damn father.

“For what it’s worth, Harrington, you’re not stupid, and those colleges aren’t worth it.” Billy tossed him the rest of his cigarette pack and then made his way back to the Camaro.

The pack was still half full.

* * *

**_Early June, 1985:_ **

Billy Hargrove was now a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool. Steve still avoided swimming pools, but shit. Summer was hot, and Billy was hot.

Steve tried squashing his thoughts about Billy, but the more he tried to repress them, the stronger they became. Sure, Billy was the asshole who beat him up and bullied a kid. But Billy learned that from his father, right? And he seemed to be making an effort to be nicer to Steve. He’d given him cigarettes. Moments of openness about his home life. And even made an attempt to comfort him when he was drowning in self-doubt.

Now Steve was noticing details about Billy that he’d never have noticed before. The shape of his lips, the blue of his eyes, the freckles that dusted his skin...

So what if he found excuses to hang out in the pool parking lot, or on a pool lounger, while Billy was on duty?

Steve sighed, weary. He was well and truly fucked. How the _hell_ had he managed to fall for Billy Hargrove? _Fuck._

* * *

**_July, 1985:_ **

Steve’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“He’s okay, sweetie,” Joyce Byers whispered. She approached Steve and then gripped him in her most comforting, motherly hug. Steve hugged her back just as tightly. When she finally released him, she continued, “His condition is stable. His chances are looking good.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispered. He didn’t know who he was thanking - Joyce, the emergency surgeons, the EMTs who brought Billy to the hospital alive, or even God himself. All Steve knew was that, by some miracle, Billy Hargrove was alive.

That was enough. It had to be enough.

* * *

**_Christmas, 1985:_ **

Billy was drawn from sleep when Steve gently ran his hands over the scars covering Billy’s stomach. Billy shivered under the touch. “Merry Christmas,” Steve said quietly.

He grunted in reply. His eyes ached and his limbs felt heavy; it had been another sleep filled with nightmares. He had a vague memory of Steve comforting him at one point by telling him a story and rubbing his back.

“Another bad night?” Steve asked. Billy nodded. “Okay. You can go back to sleep. Presents can wait.”

Those words caused panic to stir within Billy, making him sit up on an elbow. What kind of presents did Steve get him? Christ. He’d not really thought of anything to get Steve, so he made him a couple of mixtapes. He couldn’t afford anything more than that, anyway.

It was like Steve could read his mind. “Don’t worry about the presents,” Steve said. “I want to spoil you after everything you went through.”

Billy grimaced. “Fuck, Stevie,” he said, voice scratchy from sleep. “I don’t need your charity.”

“Please,” Steve said. His voice quivered slightly. “Please, Billy. This past summer was the worst summer of my life. I thought I was going to have to watch you get buried. Let me spoil you. For _me_.”

Well, shit. Billy couldn’t resist Steve when he got like this. He sighed. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just don’t say anything about what I made you.”

A grin spread slowly across Steve’s face. “Made? What, like a mixtape? Please tell me you made me a mixtape.”

Billy rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

“You did, didn’t you?” Steve said, sounding way too enthusiastic.

Billy growled into the pillow.

* * *

**_New Year’s Eve, 1985:_ **

“Champagne? Really, Harrington?”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved the flute towards Billy. “Just take the damn drink, Hargrove. It’s time to celebrate that we survived another year. We _made it_ , Billy. And we will keep making it. Let’s make 1986 our year.”

Billy wrapped his fingers around the stem of the glass and snorted. “Sure, Stevie.” They clinked the two glasses together. “May next year far surpass the shittiness of 1985. And may neither of us have another near-death experience.”

“For the love of Christ, please,” Steve said. They chuckled and then tipped back the glasses, drinking them in one go. Steve refilled them immediately.

He still couldn’t believe that this was real. On Billy’s road to recovery, Steve spent way too much time with him, which eventually led him to admitting his feelings. Billy had blushed slightly and admitted that he loved him, too. And that was that.

“One minute left,” Steve murmured. 

Billy brushed his fingers against Steve’s cheek and then leaned in. They kissed slow and deep; Billy tasted of champagne.

_“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”_ the television chanted.

“Happy New Year,” Steve murmured against Billy’s lips.

Billy grinned in return. “Happy fucking New Year.”


End file.
